Honey to Burn (Sweet & Dirty BBW MC Romance Book 10) Read online

  Bouncer snorted. “Oh, now you’re one of them psych docs? Dunno what this club is comin’ to.”

  “Good things, brother,” Rocker said amiably. “Good things.”

  Mac sure as hell hoped so. ‘Cause he was gonna need all the good things coming his way that he could get.

  A daddy again, Christ almighty. What were his parents gonna say?

  Also, it wasn't like Mac got to be a real daddy to his little girl anyway, except for short visits once a month.

  Cassie and her mama lived in the Tri-Cities, and her mama was not Mac's biggest fan. Which was fine with him—he wasn't her biggest fan either. But for the sake of the bouncy little towhead who called him daddy, he did his level best to get along with her mama.

  Nina didn't mind that he wasn't around to help raise his daughter—she was the one who'd moved back to her hometown after Cassie was born, and the one who’d convinced a judge that Mac didn't need more than a few hours one afternoon a month with his daughter.

  No, Nina's biggest gripe was that the child support he paid didn't stretch to cover her hair appointments, pedicures and shit like that. Apparently one of her girlfriends had a baby daddy who supported her in style, and Nina wanted that.

  Well she wasn't getting it from him, not on his wages as an EMT. Besides, she was going to school in the Tri to get her business degree and would probably end up making twice the money Mac would.

  That was fine with him, he didn't care that much about money, not like a lot of people. He just wanted to ride free and wild, patch in with brothers who would roll through life along with him, and enjoy the women who liked to party with them.

  This latest development might put a serious crimp in his plans to do that.

  “Well,” Rocker said, “You get in a bind, speak up, yeah? We’ll see what we can do to help.”

  Gratitude swelled in Mac’s chest, and a lump rose in his throat. “Thanks,” he managed, returning Rocker’s look.

  He had no intention of asking for money from the club, he had more pride than that. But knowing they’d be there if needed, that meant a lot.

  And that was what being a member of this club was all about.

  The front doors behind him banged open, and heavy footsteps crossed the floor.

  "Rocker, Bouncer," called a deep, cold voice with an edge of Russian accent. "Church, now. We need to discuss a situation."

  Mac shoved back his chair and rose with the other men as a tall, brawny man with blond hair and ice-blue eyes stopped by the table. Mac nodded respectfully at the Flyers' club president, Ivan 'Joystick' Vanko.

  That icy gaze narrowed on him, and then Stick nodded. "You too, prospect," he said. "You were there the other night at Paddy’s, and you did your job—you're in."

  Mac's heart leapt with excitement. "You bet, Stick." Church was what an MC called their private meetings, in which important club business was discussed and decided. Church happened in the inner sanctum, which here meant a meeting room off the wide hallway on the north side of the clubhouse.

  Mac followed the other men through the empty tables of the big, messy clubroom. Being early in the afternoon, the place was empty except for them, and a brother stretched out on one of the big, worn sofas at the rear of the room. He lay on his back, an empty beer bottle still in one hand, loud snores issuing from his open mouth.

  "Snake!" Stick bellowed, grabbing another empty off a table and tossing it at the sleeping man. "Get up."

  Mac grinned as the bottle hit Snake square in his skinny midsection. The biker erupted from the sofa with a snarl. "What the hell, bitch?" he snarled blearily, swaying on his feet. "Can't you see I'm sleepin’?"

  Then he focused on his club president and ducked his head sheepishly. "Oh. It's you, Stick."

  "Church," Bounce called back to him, pausing in the mouth of the hallway. "Come on, Stick’s waiting."

  Snake mumbled something under his breath and glowered at Mac. "Well, don't just stand there with your thumb up your ass, prospect. Bring me another beer."

  Mac grabbed a cold long neck out of the cooler and jogged to catch up with the other men. He turned the corner into the wide hallway and right again, through the double doors of the Flyers’ meeting room.

  Once this had been an office or some such, but now it held a long table and chairs. On the north wall hung an American flag, with a Devil's Flyers banner below. The windows were shielded with heavy shades.

  Stick moved to the big chair before the flag.

  Rocker took his right-hand seat, Bouncer his left. The brothers who were present filled in along the sides of the table.

  Snake pulled out one of the chairs mid-table and reached for the beer Mac held out to him, grabbing it without a word of thanks. Not that Mac had expected any.

  Some of the brothers treated the prospects like little brothers, playing jokes on them and having a laugh at their expense, but with rough affection. Others treated them like crap. Snake was one of those.

  As a prospect, Mac was not invited to sit at the table. He was damn lucky to be in the room at all.

  "Close the door," Stick ordered. Mac did so and leaned against the wall there.

  "This an official church meetin'?" Snake asked, glowering at Mac.

  Stick shook his head. "No, but we got a situation, and if any of the girls walk in, don't want them overhearing this. All of you heard of the Brave Boyz?"

  Mac tensed eagerly. Were those the gangers the Flyers had ousted from Paddy’s Pool Hall? He bit back the question, though, because he wasn’t here to talk, just listen.

  Luckily, Bouncer asked it for him. “That who we rousted outta Paddy’s Saturday night?”

  Stick nodded and looked to Rocker. “You wanna fill them in?”

  "Bouncer’s right," Rocker told them all. "The Boyz aren’t a new gang, but they’re makin’ a move into Spokane. Like to cause trouble for anyone who crosses their path and terrorize anyone who complains. Cops are on them, for what good it does. They're in and out of jail for petty shit—the old revolving door."

  A couple of gangs in the area did more than terrorize—they also liked to beat up anyone who crossed them. Mac had seen evidence of that several times lately, in his work.

  Stick nodded. "That's their way, da. But they're escalating—or trying. They’ve moved on to shake-downs."

  "Extortion?" Bouncer snorted derisively. "They don't have the manpower for that racket, do they? Or the brains."

  "Word on the street is they have some new blood, up from SoCal."

  Rocker sighed heavily. "And that's all Spokane needs, more thugs looking to be big fish in a smaller pond. We know anything else about them yet?"

  Stick’s gaze cut to Mac. "That's where the prospect comes in."

  Mac straightened. "You want intel? I'm on the streets downtown all times of day and night. I can nose around, ask questions."

  Stick nodded. "Good. Thought about having you try to infiltrate the gang, but Spokane isn't that big. You were seen by anyone, there'd go your job. And we can't afford to support you."

  That was for damn sure. As a first responder, Mac was acquainted with men and women in all branches of law enforcement. No way could he try to go undercover in a gang—someone would finger him in no time. And as Stick said, there would go his career.

  "Also, some of the Boyz may've seen me in uniform," he said. "On night shift, I've patched up my share of knife wounds."

  "Not to mention, Mac here ain't exactly the Boyz' type," Rocker said, amused. "He's way too healthy, and he smiles too much."

  "He could dye his hair and grow some whiskers," Snake suggested with a smirk, waving his beer bottle at Mac. "He didn't have that fake blond hair, he could blend in."

  "It's not fake," Mac muttered. He’d heard this before. His hair color was hereditary, from his mother's Scandinavian heritage. His dark brows and whiskers, he reckoned he got from his dad.

  Snake opened his mouth to slap Mac down for arguing, but Stick interrupted. "Let's have Mac ask around first.
Rest of you do the same. Word is, since we kicked them out of Paddy’s, the Boyz want to move their hangout to Tevo’s, farther in on Sprague. They have pool tables, and liquor. Means it would be a logical place for Flyers to hang out, too."

  "I've been there a time or two," Bouncer said. “Nobody’ll think much if they see us there.”

  "We'll do it," Rocker said, slapping the table with one hand. "See if we can put faces on the new Boyz, maybe even names."

  "We got a reason for getting involved?" Snake asked sourly. "Paddy’s, I get, but last time I looked, we ain't wearing no badges."

  "Fair question," Stick said mildly. "The other business that they tried to shake down? Little shop on E Sprague and Hobart—one of those places women go and drink wine, pretend they're artists. The shop’s owned by Danette Geary—Stomp's ex old lady."

  A heavy silence fell. Mac glanced from one to the other of the Flyers, but no one explained.

  "Well, hell," Snake said. "That means those little peckerwoods are going after Flyer family. And that will not stand."

  Bouncer nodded. "Aw'right, then. I'm in."

  "Good," Stick said. "I'll call church on Saturday, when more brothers can be here. For now, share any intel you get with me. Rocker, you've got Mac?"

  The veep nodded. "He can report to me."

  The brothers all rose. Mac opened the door and walked out, waiting for Rocker. The taller man paused by him in the hallway. "So, you've dealt with the Boyz."

  Mac nodded. "What they leave behind.”

  "Think any of their victims would be willing to talk to us?"

  "I don't know," Mac said doubtfully. "The ones who live on the street, no way in hell. They're all about keepin' their heads down and surviving—except when they lose their shit over something and end up sliced or shot."

  "I hear you there," Rocker said. "Now, you're probably wonderin' who Stomp was."

  Mac nodded, and waited.

  Rocker shook his head. "He was a brother, Seattle chapter. Got into it with one of the officers, broke with that chapter and came over here. Brought his old lady with him. Danette's all right, she's a feisty little gal. Stomp... he's an asshole, pure and simple. Big guy who got his handle after stompin' some dumbshit into the ground when he lifted Stomp's wallet.’

  “Stomp cheated on Danette with any club whore who'd look at him, and when she complained about it, he broke her arm and her cheekbone. I was a prospect then. Stick had me take her to the hospital, and he and Bounce had a little talk with Stomp. Told him he wasn't gonna fit in here either, and when he left he wasn't to try and take Danette with him. The jackass got drunk and tried to set the clubhouse on fire. Lucky he wasn’t better at it, or he could’ve killed some people. Funny thing—he disappeared after that. Nobody's seen him since."

  The hair on the back of Mac 's neck stood up.

  Implicit in the words were that someone had caused the biker to disappear, and likely that someone or someones had been Flyers from this chapter.

  There were plenty of places to make that happen here in this sparsely populated area—either a shallow grave in one of the national forests or at the bottom of the big lake just across the state line in north Idaho.

  Mac had chosen a career that meant he worked hard and fast using all his skills to save lives, and he found great satisfaction in doing so.

  But that didn't mean he was going to waste time regretting a righteous death or two. Some people just weren't fit to walk the streets with their fellow humans.

  He shrugged. "Don't s’pose anybody misses him."

  Rocker gave him a glinting look that said he approved of Mac's matter-of-fact response. "Nope. Danette, least of all. I think she's still single... hard for a woman to trust another man after shit like that."

  "Yeah," Mac said, his mood darkening as he thought back to a woman he and his partner on the ambulance had worked on a few nights ago. "Least this Danette had the sense to get shut of him. Gal we treated recently—her man had beat the shit out of her, plain for everyone to see, and the neighbors heard the whole thing. But she wouldn't press charges because 'he loved her, he was just going through a rough time at work.' " He mimicked a woman's voice, then shook his head in disgust.

  Rocker grunted his agreement, his gaze dark. Mac knew that as an ex-cop the man had likely seen a lot worse.

  "All right," Rocker said, clapping Mac on the shoulder. "You keep your mouth shut, help out with this, it'll go a long way toward you getting patched in, and soon. You get me?"

  Mac nodded, anticipation firing in his chest. "I get you. Thanks, Rocker."

  "Yep. All right, see you around. Got me a woman to tend to." He gave Mac a wink and turned toward the wide hallway that led out of the main clubroom, toward a series of small bedrooms...

  Knowing this meant Rocker had a woman waiting in his bedroom, Mac grinned as he watched the club veep saunter away.

  The brother definitely had it goin' on, and no offspring to show for it.

  Lucky bastard.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  November 9th

  RaeAnn slouched on her sofa, a ginger ale in one hand, a soda cracker in the other. She stared at the stack of magazines on her little coffee table, and her tummy rumbled again.

  Shoving the soda cracker in her mouth, she chewed. This cracker remained a dry lump in her mouth. She took a drink of soda, and swallowed, wincing as the lump of cracker lurched down her throat.

  “Take smaller bites,” Lacey advised from her perch on the footstool nearby.

  “I could make you some soup,” Dee offered, holding up a can of chicken noodle soup in the kitchen.

  “Thanks,” RaeAnn mumbled. “But nothing sounds good.”

  “Is your tummy still upset?” Lacey asked.

  Rae nodded. Yes, it was.

  It had been since she saw those plus signs on the little pink sticks. Was this the infamous morning sickness, or just nerves? She wasn’t sure. She was voting for nerves, because she was scared out of her flippin’ mind.

  The stack of pregnancy and parenting magazines were not helping, either.

  Lacey and Dee had delivered them in a pale pink gift bag with pale blue curling ribbon.

  Also included were a baby rattle that looked like a cute little giraffe and a tiny yellow baby garment with pink and blue hearts on the front with the words ‘Mommy’s Little Sweetheart.’

  “Uh, why are you staring at our gifts that way?” Dee asked, making a face at her. “You look like we brought you scary Halloween spiders, instead of cute widdow baby tings.”

  Rae made a face back at her. “Because,” she blurted. “They mean this is really happening. I’ve got a real baby inside me. And—and I’m gonna be a mama. Me!”

  She looked at both of them, their hair in bouffant waves—although Dee’s was a little too wild, she looked like she was about to grab a microphone and belt out a country song. They were both attired in cute jeans and tees, Lacey’s gold to set off her auburn hair, and Dee’s black with a sexy witch winking on her chest.

  Rae wore grey sweatpants and a baggy pink tee that said ‘I’m not short, I’m concentrated awesome,’ her hair still a mess even though it was nearly noon, and she wore no makeup because she just hadn’t had the energy.

  Rae shook her head as panic welled up inside her. “I don’t know how to do this! I don’t know how to do any of this. I thought I’d be, like, 30 and married before I had kids.”

  “Yeah, that’s kind of my plan,” Dee said. “Speaking of, have you heard from Mac? You unblocked his number, right?”

  “Sh-ssh,” Lacey hissed at her. “Not helping.” She turned back to Rae, a warm hand on her knee. But her gaze was questioning, too.

  Rae shook her head. “No, I haven’t and yes, I did. But, maybe he didn’t get your message. Maybe he doesn’t know.”

  “Right,” Lacey said instantly, nodding. “Probably not. And when he gets it, he’ll call you.”

  “And if he doesn’t, we’ll hunt him down,” Dee promised.

/>   Lacey patted Rae’s knee, leaning in. “You’re going to be fine, girl. You have us, right? We can be like—like honorary aunties for the baby.”

  Rae smiled wanly. “Thanks. I really do appreciate you two, you know that, right?”

  Dee grinned. “Yes, we do, because we are awesome.”

  Lacey rolled her eyes. “I don’t know about that, but we’re here for you.”

  “We are the aunties,” Dee sang to the tune of ‘Queen’s We Are the Champions,’ doing a dance move in the center of the room. “We are the aunties!”

  Then she bumped into the other chair and toppled onto it with an oof, her hair falling in her face.

  Rae and Lacey burst out laughing, and Rae felt better, at least for a little while.

  But while she knew she was blessed to have such good friends, she really wished Mac would get in touch.

  After all, he was her baby’s father, and half the cause of all this turmoil.

  As it turned out, Mac called that evening while she lay on the sofa, trying half-heartedly to watch a sitcom on TV. However, it was not the kind of call she’d been hoping for from him.

  “Rae?” he said, his voice rough in her ear. “How you doin’?”

  “Um...I’m okay,” she said, then rolled her eyes at herself. “You know, right?” she asked him, sitting up.

  “That you’re pregnant?” he asked. “Yeah. I know. Your friend called me at work, left a message. I’m still at work, just on a quick break. Listen—I was hopin’ to get over to see you tomorrow, but the company’s sending some of us over to the Tri for a training.”

  “A training?” she echoed, her heart sinking. He wasn’t coming to see her, at least not soon.

  “Yeah, on the new defib units. It’ll be a refresher on some other new stuff, too. We’ll be over there for two days, and then I’m on night shift for three tens.” He blew out a noisy breath that sounded frustrated. “Anyway, I guess I’ll see you next weekend?”

  “Oh,” she said, tears closing up her throat. She cleared it. “Okay.”

  She expected him to end the call, but instead heard a moment of silence. “So, you really doin’ okay?” he asked.